


Take Us Back

by ApurricatingCat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Apocalypse, Bathing, Blow Jobs, But before the story starts percival got hurt, First Kiss, First Time, Goat Farm, Healing, Hurt and comfort, I think?, Injured Percival Graves, M/M, Slow Burn, Unrealistic medical practice lmao, blood mentions, for them, jam making, no violence is shown, we get to the spicy bits sooner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-27 20:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19797457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApurricatingCat/pseuds/ApurricatingCat
Summary: He didn't know how many years it had been since the world had ended, but it had been longer than that since someone had treated him so kindly.Credence has a lil farm and he saves Percival's life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Atop the crags and cliffs the air is thin_  
>  _So we'll find a mountain path on down the hill_  
>  _Meet me where the snowmelts flows_  
>  _It is there, my dear, where we'll begin again_  
>  _Skipping stones, braiding hair_  
>  _Last years antlers mark the trail_  
>  **  
> **  
>  ** _Take Us Back- Alela Diane_  
> **  
> 
> 
> I will only ever title things w lyrics or a song. leave me alone.
> 
> There was some talk of a few stories where Cre has a goat farm. I don't think any others have been posted yet? But I claimed apocalypse for my AU and! I actually got quite a bit done quite quickly. I wanted to be nearly done with the other chapter before posting, and now I am! Hooray!

Graves stayed silent where he hid in the bushes, trying to control his pained breathing, keep it quiet and steady. He held a hand to his side, pressing hard, trying to staunch the blood flow. He had to focus on the most urgent of his injuries, when he had the chance. 

He hoped, near prayed, if he’d thought anything was there to listen, that his attackers would leave him for dead. They’d taken well near everything he had in the attack as it was. He couldn’t be worth finding.

He dropped his head back against the tree he hid against, felt the scratch of branches from the bushes against his skin, the dry rustle of leaves. He clenched his jaw, held his breath, waited for some sign if he’d been given away. The voices of the men lingered, and he let out a shuddery breath of relief when, rather than draw near, he heard them start to fade. 

He could have stayed crouched there for only minutes or hours; it was hard to tell. His head was throbbing; whole body aching. But he had to move, he couldn’t stay and die in the damn bushes along the road like some piece of roadkill. 

That world was a long time ago. Roadkill. The thought of it might have made him laugh if he wasn’t losing blood at an alarming rate, crimson soaking into the dirt like it was nothing at all. Like he was nothing at all.

Maybe now, he wasn’t.

He used the butt of his shotgun to help leverage himself off the ground. His knees fought against him, crying out angrily as they were forced straight. He swayed dangerously, nearly collapsing back to the earth. If he had, he didn’t know if he’d have managed to find the energy to try again. No better than a rabbit on the side of the road after all—but he kept his footing, if only with the help of the gun. 

His vision was twisting, unclear, dizzy, sick, he shut his eyes against it, but the earth continued to feel like it was spinning beneath his feet. He needed to move, to get to shelter of some sort. He could move, he could do this. He didn’t do a particularly good job convincing himself of this, but he forced a foot forward, joints aching, a horrid throbbing pain in his ankle. He could barely keep his weight on it. He gripped harder at his side, and limped forward, light on the injured ankle, as light as he could be. 

He forced himself on, trying to watch the ground, trying to keep the swaying dizziness at bay by keeping his eyes closed, needing to watch the horizon for shelter. He couldn’t do everything at once despite how much he wanted to. 

Entirely by luck, he found somewhere, what could really only constitute as a shed in the middle of a field. Far off, there was a home, a dim light in an upper window. He shoved the door to the shed open with his shoulder and practically fell through the door. It reeked. A smell he hadn’t known since before—he wiped blood from his face, blinking as he focused on the goats, looking up at him from the thick hay over the ground.

“Goats.” He said allowed, voice thick, words slurring together.

He knocked the door closed and looked around the dim enclosure, weight heavy on the gun. He snatched duct-tape from the wall and collapsed on to the hay with the goats. He dropped his head back, trying to breathe through the pain, trembling from head to foot. 

He struggled to take off his boots, ankle swollen and angry reddish-purple. His coat, his bullet proof vest, his shirt, his undershirt—soaked through with blood from the wound on his side, still occasionally gushing. Percival felt faint from it. He was already soaking into the hay. With shaking hands, he tore a strip of duct-tape and started to tape himself closed. In lieu of stitches and proper bandages, it was the best he could manage. 

He remembered taping up the leaky pipes in the basement of his apartment building when the landlord wouldn’t get someone on to fix the issue. Water had been leaking excessively from them, they’d turned off the water and dried everything before he taped them. He wished he could do the same now. 

Duct-tape over a bullet wound on his arm, clean through the back. Duct-tape around his ankle. He ignored the rest, cuts and scrapes that were already starting to clot. He was too exhausted for it anyways, falling back into the hay with a pained grunt.

He felt the warmth of one of the smelly animals settling at his side, a heavy head resting on his chest. He couldn’t muster the energy to push it away, and the world was dark before he could think any more of it.

\--- 

Credence woke with the sun as he did every morning. After dressing, he went to the well, filling the orange utility bucket he’d found. He carried it inside, taking care to not let the water slosh over the edges. He filled a pot with the water and set it to boil over the fire. 

He put another log onto the dying embers, prodded for flame, nose wrinkling, eyes burning, as the smoke billowed into the room. There’s a proper way to use a fireplace, but it was not something Credence had ever learned. No one had used real fireplaces before everything. 

He left the water to boil and back outside he went, trekking across the muddy field toward the barn. He was lucky to have found this place, was lucky that it was so desolate, miles from anything else. There’d been a dirt road, grown over and almost unnoticeable if you weren’t seeking it out. He didn’t know who had lived here before, but he knew they didn’t leave often. He assumed they had been elderly, and he knew they weren’t here any longer.

He opened the shed, and it was only then that he realized something was amiss. 

A man lay in the hay, so pale he might have been dead, save for the copper dried to his skin, the red of his mouth. Credence could hear his breathing, every intake of breath was a thick dangerous rattle, suggesting liquid in the lungs—on the man, his goats lay, all five of them there. Credence stood stiff as a board, fight or flight—until he realized the man didn’t stir in the slightest. He relaxed marginally and crept closer.

Credence thought it was very possible, if the goats hadn’t kept the man warm, he wouldn’t have made it through the night. If that was good or bad, Credence didn’t know, though he supposed, if it turned out to be bad, the man was going to die soon regardless, without help. He slunk forward, searching the barn for a hint of anything more. He grabbed the shotgun, keeping silent, and put it far from the man. 

He searched the pile of his bloodied clothes next. A knife, a cigarette case, a worn paperback book, pages torn, faded, well loved. The cover was missing. Credence folded the clothes, set the book atop them, then the cigarette case. He tucked the knife into his pants and shooed the goats away from the man.

The movement made the man’s face twist with pain, even unconscious. Credence quickly felt his pockets, relieved not to find any more weapons on him. He gently shook the man’s shoulder, trying not to jostle him too badly. “Excuse me—you ah…wake up—” Credence said, awkward, it had been a long time since he’d been around another person—

The words worked though, or at least, hearing a voice did. The man jolted upright, eyes wide and wild, mouth twisted in a grimace. His fist was moving through the air, ready to defend himself against an incoming attack—but the man was weak; Credence stopped it easily.

The man let out what was meant to be a sound of anger, Credence was sure, but it sounded more like a pained whine. “Let go of me—I don’t fucking have anything—” he snarled. There was blood on his teeth. 

“Why are you here?” Credence asked instead, grip tight on the man’s wrist. “No one comes up here, why are you here?”

Wild and confused and hurt— “I-I found it. I needed to lay down.” 

“You’re badly hurt.” Credence said. The man’s skin was cold beneath his hand, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Thank you for informing me.” He retorted, his voice was tight and pained. He tried weakly to pull his hand away from Credence’s grip.

“I can help.” Credence said, mouth running before his brain could think through the offer. 

The man stopped trying to pull away and looked up, meeting Credence’s eyes, his own wide and shocked. “What?”

“I can help you. Clean your wounds, proper bandaging.” Credence said, loosening his grip on the wrist. “I can’t promise that you’ll live.” He admitted, softly, “but you won’t be in so much pain if you don’t.”

Credence could see any remaining fight melt away at the prospect of any sort of comfort. Credence knew before the man spoke that he was going to agree.

“Okay—” he breathed, shoulders shaking slightly, “I mean—yes. Yes, please. Please help—” He took Credence’s hand, the one that had held his wrist, and gripped it as tightly as he could manage, shaking badly, “Please.”

\---

For the first time since this all began, Graves was grateful that he’d lost so much weight. He’d missed his muscle, his mass, but with nothing excess, well, very nearly nothing at all on him, Credence was able to shoulder most of his weight. Graves had a feeling that, if the goat farmer put his mind to it, he probably could have carried him. He didn’t look wounded or starved the way the rest of the world did. 

The guy didn’t offer to carry Graves, and for that, he was grateful. He didn’t know if his pride could allow it. 

He helped Graves into the house and over to a worn floral couch. Graves sank gratefully down onto it, squinted his eyes against the haze of smoke filling the room. “You aren’t lighting that right.” He offered, quietly, letting his head fall back onto arm of the sofa.

Credence grunted in response, taking the pot off the fire and pouring it into a mug. An herbal scent started to join the smoky one. “I don’t know what to do to make it better. I tried putting the wood in all sorts of ways.” He muttered, blowing over the tea. He set it on the wooden floor and put another pot of the dirty water on to boil. He sighed and brought the mug to Graves. “Here, drink this. I’ll go get the medical kits.”

“You fix me up, I’ll see what’s wrong with your fireplace.” Graves offered, eyes solemn. 

The farm boy looked over at him, looking surprised for a moment, as if he had any right to. If Graves got through this, he owed the kid everything. “Thank you.” He said, ducking his head, hiding behind messy dark curls. “I appreciate that…now, the tea—I’ll, I’ll be back.” 

Graves forced himself to sit up a little and brought the tea closer, sniffing at it warily before sipping the heated drink. He didn’t know how long the leaves and flowers floating around and at the bottom of the cup ought to be there until it tasted like anything, but he found himself rather disappointed with the scented hot water. But he’d been asked to drink it, so he screwed his eyes shut and guzzled it down, drinking way too many leaves and getting a mouthful of mush by the end of it. 

He was getting the last of the leaves from his mouth when the kid returned with what could have qualified as a military aid kit. Graves was surprised to see something like that, especially intact. He relaxed deeper into the couch and watched as the kid went through it on the floor next to him, eyebrows furrowed as he looked through the supplies.

“I haven’t…helped a person…like this, I mean. I sewed up one of the goats—and she’s doing alright.” He admitted, setting out a needle and threading for stitches, gauze, alcohol, a bottle of pain killers. 

“Well, doctor, you’re easily the best chance I’ve got.” Graves replied, weakly offering his hand, “Graves…Percival, my name.”

Hesitantly, he shook Graves hand, “Credence.”

Percival Graves offered Credence a shaky smile and settled his hand back on the couch. “My side is the worst, Credence, deep cut, I think it was with something serrated.” He said, touching his side, plastered with duct-tape still, “Bullet wound in my arm. The bullet went through, so no need to fish for it.”

Credence paled a little, clenched and unclenched his jaw, took a long slow breath, nostrils flaring as he steeled himself. He got Graves another mug of tea and pressed the oxytocin tablet into his palm. “Take this. There is are a few morphine shots in there but… you should take this too.”

Graves tossed it back, ignoring the scalding of his mouth. “You really treat a guy right, Credence.” He rasped, handing the mug back. 

Credence’s shoulders tensed, “Can I help you onto the floor? I don’t…want anything in the way while I’m trying to stitch…” his fingers flitted uncertainly against his own side in explanation. “It…won’t be comfortable, but maybe on your side? I can pull the cushions for you but… the cut is on your back too and—”

Graves was already sinking off the couch onto the floor, gingerly laying his injured arm out, so as not to lay on it, “Do your worst, doctor.”

Credence laughed hoarsely, “Oh god, don’t say that.” He rasped, near frantic but working hard to keep his composure in the face of what he’d offered and what needed to be done. Graves watched him take another slow measured breath before uncapping a syringe of morphine. Then there was the pinch of the needle as Credence just went for it. Graves couldn’t blame him in the slightest. “It…it says to give it some time to kick in.” Credence said, voice sounding far away to Graves. 

He hummed in response, feeling quite drowsy as the drugs started taking effect, dehydrated and half starved, it wasn’t going to take long. 

In a faraway sort of way, he felt Credence peel away the duct-tape from his side. He knew that it hurt, or that it should, but everything was heavy and slow. 

“It’d really be better if you stayed awake.” Credence was saying, voice tight with nerves. Percival found that quite sweet, very endearing. He was a stranger the kid had found in his goat barn and now the kid was worried about him dying on his living room floor, when he really should have shot Percival on sight.

He would… He’d need to…talk to Credence about that…later…

\---

“There, that’s it.” Credence encouraged softly, shouldering Percival’s drug-sleep heavy weight and helping him down the hallway to the bathroom where Credence had laboriously filled the bathtub with hot water.

It had been two weeks since he had found Percival in his barn. His wounds weren’t pretty, bound to scar badly, but they were closing, and they didn’t seem infected. Credence was counting every win with relief that he hadn’t expected to come from this situation.

He helped Percival sink into the warm water and the man shamelessly moaned a pleased sound that made Credence flush and made his skin tingle. 

“It’s been so long since I bathed. And with hot water?” Percival groaned, voice raspy, a hint of slurring to his words. He cracked a dilated eye open at Credence and smiled. “You’re spoiling me, Credence.”

Credence was. But he shook his head and shrugged. “Let’s get you washed.” He said quietly. Percival’s weighty gaze on him made Credence feel a little dizzy, he felt like electricity was buzzing under his skin. He swallowed hard and grabbed the soap.

Percival was pliant and willing. Credence could feel Percival’s eyes on him and stubbornly didn’t look up to see. He was careful and focused as he scrubbed Percival clean. His hands, arms, each leg, carefully raised from the water and stripped from the filth of living life this way, water murky with blood and dirt. 

As Credence washed Percival’s feet, the man groaned softly in pleasure, swollen ankle near back to normal, blessedly not broken. The sound went straight through Credence and he had to shut his eyes a moment, breathing slow through his mouth, suddenly very much aware that he was aroused from this. He exhaled slowly and kept going, jaw clenched.

Credence moved up the tub and began washing Percival’s chest, taking care not to bother the wounds too badly, murmuring an apology when Percival winced from the pressure near the one on his side. Credence helped Percival sit a little straighter and washed his back, apologizing again for any strain. 

Percival offered Credence a smile, clearly uncomfortable but trying to hide it. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re doing more for than me than…anyone would.” He huffed a bitter sort of laugh and Credence could tell he was thinking of another time.

Credence gently nudged Percival’s chin, guiding his head back. He poured water from a pitcher carefully over his head and worked soap into his hair. At the slight drag of his nails against Percival’s scalp, Percival breathed a shaky whine.

“No, please—I’m good, it’s good.” Percival rasped as Credence’s hands retreated. “Sorry—please keep going.” 

Credence hesitated, blush staining his cheeks. He carefully returned to the task at hand, each soft noise Percival made lodging firmly in his brain. 

By the time he’d finished, Percival was breathing heavier, his skin flushed. Credence’s immediate fear was that one of the wounds had reopened. That Percival was in pain. He let the tub start to drain, the sooner he cleaned the wound and fixed it, the better. 

Percival’s eyes went wide a moment and he shifted in discomfort, unwilling to move from the cooling water, even as it drained away. He relented, finally, expression tight, gaze avoiding Credence as he allowed the help out of the tub.

Credence realized with a sharp intake of breath, that Percival may have had a reason besides pain to not want to move. The realization was accompanied with a dizzying wave of heat and the view that made Credence’s mouth go dry. Red, hard, and heavy between Percival’s legs. He wanted—

Credence didn’t say anything though. He helped Percival stand, helped him back to the living room, and dried him. He had a hard time not stealing glances. Percival was pointedly looking away. 

Credence felt feverish. 

When he retired to bed, he was restless. He couldn’t settle, wound tight. He rolled onto his stomach and hid his face against his pillow, exhaling a harsh breath and rocking his hips against the mattress, serving only to work him up more. 

He moaned with a shudder as he finally took himself in hand. 

He tried not to, really, he did; but he couldn’t help but imagine Percival was against him, that it was his hand rather than Credence’s own.


	2. Chapter 2

Time was, for once, kind. Percival was able to move easier, occasionally trailing after Credence while he did various things around the farm. He took to caring for the garden near the house. It was nice to do something _normal _. Hands dirty for something good.__

__With every day winter came closer and Credence softly asked for his help in the kitchen one day in late summer._ _

__“We need to preserve what we can.” He explained softly, “So that we don’t have to worry about it when snow comes.” Which made perfect sense to Percival, though he’d have helped regardless of the reason._ _

__Long afternoons were spent together in the kitchen, boiling syrupy fruits and sealing them into jars, salting and drying various meats from the traps. Most evenings ended with dinner sitting on the porch, enjoying the cooling summer heat before it dissipated to frigid days spent inside._ _

__Percival usually turned in earlier, aches quick to catch up with him. Credence liked to watch the stars a while, breathe the fresh air, feel the breeze in his hair late into the summer nights. Mosquito bites specked his skin almost constantly, but he was willing to ignore the itch for evenings like these. The sound of the world going on as if it hadn’t ended. For the animals in the forest, he supposed it hadn’t. The crickets chirping in the long grass, lighting bugs floating up and down in the field like some sort of magic._ _

__Percival stepped out of the house, the worn wood of the porch creaked beneath his weight and he settled on the steps next to Credence._ _

__“Couldn’t sleep?” Credence asked softly, looking at Percival for a moment, the rough stubble on his jaw. He knew the man would soon shave it again despite cutting himself nearly every time._ _

__Percival shook his head, expression lost as he stared out at the field, a tremor in his hands as he pushed his hair back from his face._ _

__Credence frowned a little and shifted slightly closer, and on an impulse, he took Percival’s hand, laced his fingers through his. “Where are you?” He asked softly, anxious about coming off as nosy and annoying for asking questions. It was hard not to ask, though. He wanted to help, if he could._ _

__Percival pulled his gaze to Credence, surprised as he looked at their hands. The corner of his mouth quirked, more sardonic than anything. “The world before this.” He said eventually, squeezing Credence’s hand a little tighter. “It’s not really important, just not the most pleasant of dreams.”_ _

__Credence understood that all too well. He squeezed Percival’s hand and shifted closer. “You’re safe here.” He said quietly, a slight tremor to his voice, brows furrowed with concern, watching Percival._ _

__Percival looked at Credence, expression fond, and he smiled, sincere, this time, eyes soft. Credence met his eyes, held the contact. “Thank you, Credence. I know that I am.” He searched Credence’s face for a moment, it made Credence’s heart speed up, a jolt of hope. “You’re safe with me too, Credence.” He said softly with another small smile. He looked back out at the field. Credence pulled his gaze away after a moment and, in a moment of boldness, shifted closer and rested his head on Percival’s shoulder._ _

__Percival’s hand brushed against the back of Credence’s hand, tracing circles against his skin. Credence could have stayed like that forever._ _

__\---_ _

__Credence stirred the jam he was making, listening to the sound of Percival in the living room messing with the fireplace. He so enjoyed the patterns they had fallen into. They took to sitting on the couch, the nights were getting too cold. Some nights they just sat quiet together until Credence was dozing on Percival’s shoulder, others Percival would read aloud or mess with trying to tune a guitar that he’d found in the attic, strings threatening to break if they were thought about too hard. Credence enjoyed the company more than he’d ever expected to. If he’d been lonely before, he hadn’t realized it, but he certainly would be now._ _

__He smiled to himself when he heard the sound of Percival cursing at the fireplace. He lifted the spoon and tried his jam with a soft pleased noise._ _

__He heard Percival huff from the doorway and turned to look at him, smiling at the disgruntled look the man wore, ash on his skin. The frustrated look melted into a small smile, “It’s good? Can I try?” he asked, walking to stand at the counter next to Credence._ _

__Credence nodded and got a spoonful to offer to him. Percival met Credence’s eyes as he leaned forward and took the jam. He hummed a pleased sound around the spoon and moved back slow. “Very good, Credence. You’re brilliant at this.” He praised. Credence tracked his mouth, the swipe of his tongue, a faint stain of red on his bottom lip from the jam._ _

__He exhaled shakily and forced himself to look away, “Thank you.” He said, voice thick. “I’m glad that you like it.” He got another little spoonful and ate it, he just…needed to be sure it was good, not because he wanted his mouth to share the same space that Percival’s had just moments before. He wished he was convincing himself._ _

__He looked to Percival, words dying before they could begin. Because Percival was suddenly so close, a hand on Credence’s arm and a mouth so close to his own. “Credence,” hearing his name the way Percival spoke it just then made a shudder roll through him. “Can I have another taste?”_ _

__Credence nodded, dazed, about to turn to put more on the spoon. But Percival’s hand was cupping his jaw and then his mouth was against Credence’s. The noise Credence made between them, he couldn’t believe had come from him. He was frozen for barely a second before he was surging forward. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he was doing but he Did Not want it to end._ _

__Percival smiled against his mouth, a soft huff of amusement—at the drag of his tongue, Credence could have died. He was dizzy from it all. He whined and opened his mouth, trying to copy what Percival had done, breathing heavy, clinging to Percival’s shirt. Percival grinned, nipped at Credence’s lip, arms pulling him closer. He bumped their noses together, pressed a kiss to Credence’s cheek._ _

__“That tastes so good, so sweet.” He said against Credence’s skin, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw._ _

__Credence had no idea what he was talking about, looking dazed a moment. “wh…oh—I’m glad-” he said, his voice sounded alien to his ears, head felt like it was full of cotton. He found Percival’s mouth again, pressed closer. He won a pleased laugh and a bright smile._ _

__They ended up on the couch, and rather than reading or quiet, Percival found his mouth to be quite busy with Credence, who seemed entirely unwilling to stop._ _

__Not that Percival was interested in stopping either._ _

__After that, most evenings found them tangled together on the couch that way._ _

__\---_ _

__

__The heat of the fireplace could only reach so far, and Credence moved from his bedroom to the living room, mattress against the wall._ _

__Most days were spent inside trying to keep warm from the horrid Mideastern cold. Snow piled high outside that neither of them much wanted to wade through, taking turns to care for the animals in the barn._ _

__But after braving the cold, the warmth of the house was there to return to, and better yet, the warmth of the other._ _

__Percival shoved the door closed behind him, shivering as he got out of the shoes, out of the worn coat almost soaked from the heavy wet snowflakes. He rubbed his hands together to warm them as he moved into the heat of the living room._ _

__Credence was quickly upon him, smiling, tasting of fruit. Percival slid his hands beneath the hem of Credence’s threadbare t-shirt, winter cold hands teasing against the warm skin of his stomach. The contrast made Credence squeak in surprise, and made Percival hum with pleasure, pressing his cold hands more firmly to leech Credence’s warmth, kissing his fruit sticky mouth again and again._ _

__The kissing was slow and languid until it wasn’t. Credence panted against Percival’s mouth, his hands wandering, breathing sharp and ragged. Percival’s thumb pulled slow over Credence’s nipple, the faint remaining chill of his hands and the attention had Credence moaning. Percival groaned in surprise as Credence moved him bodily towards the couch, grinding against Percival’s lap as he dropped into it, hands in Percival’s hair, tugging, pleading._ _

__Percival leaned back against the cushions hands a steadying weight, holding Credence close. Credence chased after bliss in Percival’s mouth, and Percival found it right back. Credence ground his hips against Percival’s breath stuttering with the drag of fabric._ _

__“Can we—is it...could we lay down? On my bed? It’ll be more comfortable than the floor. Or the couch.” Credence was panting, even as he seemed unsure if that was on okay thing to ask._ _

__Percival groaned and pressed his face against Credence’s shoulder, “Fuck—yes, Credence. Only—only as much as you want, I won’t push you—” he turned his face, nosing at Credence’s throat, breathing hard, feeling desperate. He pressed a wet kiss to Credence’s skin, tasted him._ _

__The drag of Percival’s stubble had Credence’s vision blurring and a keening moan tore through him before he could help it. Percival kept kissing Credence, teasing and moving with more purpose, such a noise won from Credence who fought so hard to be quiet and unobtrusive in all things. He wanted to hear more of them._ _

__Credence was the one to finally pull away, flushed, eyes dark and glossy. His throat was reddened from Percival’s attention, a faint bruise forming high up on his throat from Percival sucking at his skin. Credence took Percival’s hands and pulled them up from the couch, backing towards his mattress. How much easier it would have been to stay on the couch, especially with Percival looking at him that way. But Credence wanted to be on his bed and he wanted to feel Percival’s weight on him, pinning him down against it, the way that he had imagined so soon after Percival had arrived._ _

__Credence pushed Percival down onto his mattress, flushed and breathing hard through his nose, sinking onto the bed with him and kissing him again. Percival’s hands settled heavy near his ribs; they were an anchor in Credence’s swirling, dizzying _need_. With them against him, he let out a needy whine into Percival’s mouth, a plea for something more. For what? He had only a vague idea. Skin on skin. That much, he knew. But he was eager and willing—desperate, really, to please, to give, to take. Anything and everything, he wanted it all._ _

__“I want to feel good with you, Percy—help me—tell me what to do—” he shifted his hips, pressing himself against Percival with a whine. “We deserve to feel good—” the friction made him shudder and he did it again, grinding against Percival’s hips with no small amount of hungry desperation._ _

__Percival was groaning right back, face pressed against Credence’s shoulder and grip tighter on him. Percival tugged at Credence’s shirt, pushing it higher, pulling away to help get it off of him and carelessly onto the ground. Credence eagerly tugged at Percival’s shirt in return, eyes blown impossibly dark. Percival easily tugged off his own._ _

__Percival turned them over, Credence’s head hit the mattress and he looked dazed up at Percival. The man was straddling his hips, an almost teasing him with his light the pressure was. Credence groaned and pressed his head back against the mattress with a ragged breath, rocking his hips up to try and get more. “Percival—” he grit out, feeling wild, “please.”_ _

__Percival ran his hands up Credence’s chest, dark eyes admiring the view as he trailed his hands down Credence’s arms and linked their fingers together. He leaned down and kissed Credence, settling his weight against Credence’s hips and languidly meeting Credence’s desperate thrusts._ _

__The panted sounds against his mouth, Credence’s bruising grip on his hands, it all had Percival feeling just as desperate as Credence._ _

__“I want to taste you.” Percival rasped against Credence’s mouth, “can I do that, Credence?”_ _

__Credence was nodding before Percival had even finished, leaning up for more kisses, which were happily given._ _

__And then Percival was moving down Credence’s body, kissing and sucking his way down Credence’s chest, mapping it all with his mouth and hands. Credence was positively shaking, fingers tangling in Percival’s hair, grip tight._ _

__Percival sucked at Credence’s hips, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, pushing them down his thighs and moving lower. Credence let out a breathy sob, trembling as Percival mouthed over his underwear, soaked through in his arousal._ _

__“Wh-what are you—” Credence choked as Percival lapped at the fabric. He looked a little mortified, blushing crimson._ _

__Percival kissed him through his boxers, “sh, sh, shhh—” he cooed, meeting Credence’s wide gaze. “I’m tasting you, baby. You’ll feel so good.” He pressed an affectionate kiss to the fabric again, making Credence jolt and whine, thighs trembling._ _

__Percival hooked his fingers beneath the waist band and slid them down to join Credence’s pants, then farther to be dropped to the floor. Credence’s breathing was ragged, thighs spread to where Percival had moved them, a tremor through the whole length of him. Percival took Credence in hand, leaning up to press a kiss to Credence’s slack mouth as he slowly stroked him._ _

__Credence looked utterly lost, all flushed and glossy eyed, lips bitten, Percival couldn’t help but kiss him again, adoring the sounds Credence made into his mouth._ _

__He had a task at hand though, and a desire to have Credence in his mouth, so he pulled away from the kisses, smiling at the noise of complaint. Credence didn’t have time to finish the sound before Percival’s lips were wrapped around him._ _

__Credence didn’t last long, covering his face with one hand, pulling Percival’s hair with the other._ _

__Percival kissed his way back to Credence’s face, affectionately nosing at his cheek, moving his hand away so that Credence would look at him. “Okay?” He asked with a fond smile._ _

__Credence blinked at him, hazy and dazed, face breaking into a tired smile. He nodded and pulled Percival to him, kissing him as if he might never be able to again._ _

__Percival eased onto the mattress beside him, cupping Credence’s face affectionately, returning the kisses just as eagerly as he received them._ _

__He jolted in surprise at the touch of Credence’s hand through his pants, pressing against him in a way that wasn’t enough and was almost too much, the way his jeans were dragging._ _

__“Fuck—fuck—hold on.” He breathed, lightheaded, “I want to feel your skin.”_ _

__Credence moved quickly, over Percival and undoing his pants with a hint of shaky urgency. “I want to taste you, like you did me.” Credence said, voice hoarse as he pulled Percival’s boxers and jeans to his ankles. “Can I?”_ _

__Percival nodded and cursed again. “Please.”_ _

__Credence pressed his cheek affectionately against Percival’s ankle and bit a kiss against his calf, leaving a red mark showing through the man’s hair._ _

__Percival spread his thighs, cock heavy and oozing, and Credence was going to have it in his mouth. Something so sensitive and private and it was _his_. He bit at Percival’s hip, so close to where the man wanted his mouth, but it made him moan regardless. Credence couldn’t resist sucking and biting a possessive mark there. He wanted to leave them up and down the whole length of him, leave his mark of adoration on Percival’s scarred skin. _ _

__Another time, perhaps. They had the entire winter to be locked up inside. Credence had a lifetime to learn every bit of the body beneath him. He was going to. He told Percival so in a rasp before taking the tip of him into his mouth._ _

__Hands tangled in his hair, tight enough to hurt, but it felt good, more than anything. He wrapped his hand around the base of him and it wasn’t long until Percival was coming, his hand joining Credence’s to stroke him through it while he pulled Credence up to kiss him, desperate and panting._ _

__“I wanted to taste you.” Credence murmured against the man’s mouth as the desperation slowed. The man’s release was cooling on his hand and his stomach._ _

__The complaint got him a laugh and Percival kissed him again. “I couldn’t resist having your mouth on me.” He mused, drawing a finger through the release and bringing it up between them, “there, you can still taste it.” He was teasing, but Credence leaned forward and sucked on Percival’s finger, meeting Percival’s eyes as he did so._ _

__Percival groaned, “oh god, Credence.” He dropped his head back against the pillows. “You might be the death of me.”_ _

__“After all the work I went through to keep you alive? Say it isn’t so.” Credence said, kissing his way back lower, teasing kitten licks against Percival’s softened cock, which tried it’s best to show interest._ _

__Percival groaned, “I can’t yet, Credence.” But he made no move to push him away._ _

__Credence grinned and continued licking the man clean. He’d never looked forward to winter more. This would be the best sort of way to keep warm._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos, everyone. Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> If there...are any Big Issues feel free to hmu, if i proofread it will never see the light of day. 
> 
> Look forward to a spicy chapter two! It's almost done ;)


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